


soft spots

by machellex



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Criminals, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Police, Established Relationship, F/M, cop & graffiti artist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-18
Updated: 2017-03-18
Packaged: 2018-10-07 07:15:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10354998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/machellex/pseuds/machellex
Summary: “You know them?” Draven asks gruffly.Cassian hesitates. “She’s my—” he pauses, unsure of exactly what she really is because she is something along the lines of both friend and girlfriend but really not either or in between. “We’re… something. Sort of.”“We fuck at night and get food during the day. And he says, we’re simplysortof something,” he hears Jyn snort. “I’m pretty sure most would constitute me as his girlfriend.”“Sounds like something I don’t want to get into,” Draven mutters under his breath as he slaps Cassian on the back and zeroes himself in on the scene of the crime.--Or: Cassian's a cop, Jyn's a renowned graffiti artist, and he catches her at the scene of the crime.





	

**Author's Note:**

> pretty much i need all the fbi tropes
> 
> cop + graffiti artist

 

“Jyn, hurry up,” she hears Bodhi hiss from behind her. There’s a crunch as he shifts movement along the dead grass, his bag jingling with half-full bottles of spray paint.

“Hold your bloody horses. I’m almost done,” she bites, carefully angles herself so that the gold paint shadows the body just right before marking the word she’s got scripted in her brain. She shakes the can one last time, then takes two steps back to examine the piece in its black and gold glory. “There. That ought to do it.”

She turns to Bodhi, and he quickly tosses her one last can. She signs the corner in one swift movement before they’re off, sprinting into the darkness. 

“Freeze.”

—

“Keep your hands where I can see them.” 

Cassian shines the flashlight and watches as the two figures light up in the dark, the exposure creating the utmost vulnerability under his scrutiny. When his eyes meet a familiar gaze, he nearly double-takes, shock running through his veins as recognition dawns on him. Arms suddenly limp, he removes it from his tucked away gun, drops his flashlight to the side of his thigh with a long exhale of exhaustion.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he mutters. His hand waves in the air. “Guns down.”

There’s a resounding mechanical pulse as safeties click back into place, guns being pressed back into holsters as everyone cautiously eases off the tensity of the situation. “You know them?” someone asks gruffly—Draven, he thinks, somewhere to the side.

Cassian hesitates. 

If he answers honestly, they may pull him for conflict of interest. But he’s always been honest, and he’s always been honest with his team, so he says it, carefully, almost like he doesn’t want to at all— “She’s my—” he pauses, unsure of exactly what she really is because she is something along the lines of both friend and girlfriend but really not either or in between. “We’re… something. Sort of.”

“We fuck at night and get food during the day. And he says, we’re simply _sort_ of something,” he hears Jyn snort, and he wants to snap at her to stay silent—he wouldn’t be in this goddamn mess if it weren’t for her. But he also guesses he deserves that verbal slap because he’s sure “dating" would have been a much more sufficient, a much more… honest term. At least more definitive than “something, sort of.”

But seeing that her hands are lifted in the air, and there are cop cars at the scene, he’s not quite sure he wants to be honest about their relationship in that moment. Especially, considering, she apparently hasn’t been quite honest with him in return.

She continues, her voice dry, “I’m pretty sure most would constitute me as his girlfriend.”

“Sounds like something I don’t want to get into,” Draven mutters under his breath as he slaps Cassian on the back and zeroes himself in on the scene of the crime. 

Cassian grimaces. Normally, he’d proceed this like any arrest, but for fuck’s sake—the last thing he’s ever expected was his “sort of girlfriend” and her best friend to be on the other side of the crime scene. He lifts a brow as he nears the two, mentally noting the backpack dropped to their sides. He’s sure if she can read him well at all, she’d notice the furious tension that shoots through his muscles. 

His jaw ticks as he assesses the two of them, gaze shifting back and forth.

She opens her mouth to speak.

“Don’t—” he says sharply, cutting her off.

She shuts it. 

Then,

“Bodhi has nothing to do with this.”

“ _Jyn_ ,” the man next to her hisses, hands gingerly waving in the air. 

“I’m sure,” Cassian says slowly, nodding at his fellow officers to cuff them, “if I watch the security feed, I would see two figures—not just yours.”

“You won’t,” she says, voice hoarse as they grab her by the arm and snap the metal locks around her wrists, reciting her rights rapidly under their breath. “Hey, watch it!” she snaps fiercely, jerking her arm as the cuffs tighten against her skin. Her eyes are back on him, angry—though he wonders if she really has a right to be. “There is no security feed. You can let Bodhi go.”

His eyes are sharp as a tack as he takes the both of them in, clad in tight black pants and long-sleeve shirts, black gloves hanging loosely from their pockets. Cassian shakes his head, motions to the officers to check the site and leave him alone with them for just a moment. 

His voice is low when he finally speaks, “Bodhi, take five steps back and stay there. Let me talk to her.” When Bodhi doesn’t move, his glare is edging on murderous. “ _Now_ , Bodhi.”

Bodhi flinches, just slightly, before he’s furrowing his brows, baring his teeth. Cassian’s always known he was protective of Jyn, and he knows their relationship runs years and years back to when they were pre-teen adolescents, but he wonders just how close they really are and how much of Jyn Bodhi knows that Cassian doesn’t. Apparently, a lot. “Careful with her, Andor.”

“Bodhi, stay out of it,” Jyn says, her voice soft and reassuring. “I can handle Cassian, believe me.”

Bodhi snorts. “I’m a little more worried if Cassian can handle you,” he says and then he’s shaking his head and stepping back. “Don’t fuck with her, Andor. I’m all ears.”

He’s almost circling her as soon as Bodhi walks seemingly out of earshot and then he’s still and staring down at her with an acute fervency to him, an intense kind of fury or maybe just a hell of a whole lot of hurt because he’s not sure how she could have fooled him so, broken his trust so easily like that. “You told me your misdemeanors were something of the past,” he says quietly.

Her chin juts high, gaze challenging like he’s always known her to be. “They are.”

He lifts a brow. “Care to explain why I’m here at four in the morning when I should be very much asleep?” _Next to you_ , he almost adds, but Cassian is tactful, and he doesn’t. 

“I know my rights,” she sniffs. Then drops her chin at his hardened gaze, just slightly. “But I’ll have you know that it only looks bad.”

Cassian is spitting Spanish curses under his breath before he hisses at her, “Only _looks_ bad? Jyn, you’re in handcuffs. You and Bodhi are in _handcuffs_. You’ve been caught trespassing on private property and vandalizing the building—it not only looks bad, it _is_ bad.” 

Jyn is quiet, and her dark eyes are assessing him slowly. “Trust me, Cassian.”

“Trust goes both ways.” He sidelines to the graffiti now dancing across the wall. “And I’m not sure if this constitutes as trust.”

There’s an empty silence between them for a moment, and he watches as blue and red lights flash across her skin, can hear the cops assess the damage graffitied on the wall, but loudest of all is the beating of his own goddamn heart. 

“You’re a cop,” she says plainly, finally.

“Yeah,” he agrees with wariness weighing down his shoulders. “And you’re…” _A criminal_ , he wants to say. _A liar. Not trustworthy. And still, someone he had been able to relax with, and he hasn’t quite experienced that in a long, long time._ He doesn’t say any of that. “Someone I thought I knew a lot better.”

Pain flickers through her eyes, but he doesn’t stay long enough to feel it linger.

Later, he’s told to remove himself from the case. Conflict of interest.

—

He smells the tamales and chilaquiles before he even opens the door.

Cassian’s eyes trail up her Converse sneakers to the grease-stained brown paper bag in her hand, all the way up until they reach a pair of guilt-stricken eyes. Honestly, he almost slams the door back in her face, but he’s never been quite the petty type. Instead, he steps out, closes the door behind him and sees hope fall on her features with it. 

“It’s two in the morning,” he says wearily.

She opens her mouth, then reconsiders it, scrunching her face up in thought. “You don’t trust me.”

He almost laughs, but instead raises a brow. His arms cross as he leans his shoulder against the doorframe. “Should I?”

“I’m not a criminal,” she reminds him carefully. “The charges were dropped.”

His eyes flash angrily, but he reminds himself to keep his tone leveled. “You lied to me, Jyn. I don’t know what the hell you consider me, but I’m pretty sure this isn’t how you treat people you’re dating.”

There’s a flare in her gaze as her grip around the bag tightens, knuckles growing white. “You’re a cop. What was I supposed to _say_ —‘by the way, Cassian, I may or may not be the infamous graffiti artist that the police have been after, _arrest_ _me’?_ You would have turned me in.” 

“You don’t know that for sure,” he growls lowly. “You didn’t even give me a choice.” He drops his forehead in the palm of his hand, heaves a noisy exhale as he, with great wariness, brushes his fingers through his hair. His voice drops a notch, almost hoarse. “Or break up with me. Whatever it is, don’t string me along.”

She sucks in her breath through her teeth, breathes in deeply as she lets her eyelids flutter shut. Her voice falls to a murmur when she finally speaks again. “I didn’t know you’d be a cop. And then… it became too late to really say anything.”

The lull of the night expands between them, crickets chirping and the distant sound of tires languidly belting across the road, reverberating through the stillness. Suddenly, Cassian feels that the world is simply getting darker, the night simply getting longer with the silence that continues to swell in the air. 

“Now you know,” he says, so faint he wonders if she can even hear him. He closes his eyes briefly, clenches his empty hand against the doorknob. “It’s late. I’m going back to bed.”

Jyn opens her eyes, and there’s a lonely hopelessness that wavers across her features, and, Christ, Cassian’s always hated seeing that on her, _always._ But he’s not going to deal with this—not going to argue with her, not this late _—_

“It’s just Orson Krennic’s buildings.”

Cassian blinks, almost loses his footing at the sound of her voice. “Pardon?”

“I only graffiti Krennic’s buildings—”

“I know that,” he interrupts. “Your pattern is obvious.”

“But they’re not really his buildings,” she says in a low voice, finally, looking up at him so that she’s gazing at him directly in the eye. She shifts her feet, discomfort obvious in her features, but Cassian’s not about to give in so easily—especially now that she’s piqued his curiosity. He lifts a brow, and she begrudgingly moves forward, “I wasn’t—I wasn’t trying to lie to you, but I… don’t really like to talk about it—and without getting into… _everything…_ Ultimately, the deeds are under my name. Because of… my father. So the vandalism charges, the trespassing charges—they’d never stick.”

Her voice is small as she looks up at him, and he’s never really seen her quite so tiny. He means, literally, she is—tiny, that is. But she’s always been just a bit larger than life, her fierceness and defiance overwhelming about any inch of imagination that could possibly ever make one think lowly of her due to size. 

To see her pack it in for just a second—

Cassian doesn’t like seeing her this way. 

“I want to make this work,” she says softly after a moment. The grip around the paper brown bag tightens. “Us, dating. I’m… trying, and I want to trust you, and I want you to trust me. I’m not really good at this, but—”

No—Cassian fucking _hates_ seeing her this way. 

But mainly, he hates that he’s made her this way, almost groveling.

Cassian wonders if he’s got a goddamn soft spot for damsels in distress—not that Jyn Erso could really constitute as a damsel in distress.

Which really just means he’s got a goddamn soft spot for Jyn Erso: liar, vandalizer, trespasser, and _all—Christ, fuck._

“Tamales and chilaquiles?” he asks abruptly, shifting himself in an upright position as he nods towards the bag in her hand. 

Jyn stops talking, blinks, looks down for a moment, then back up with an uncertain nod. There’s a stillness to her, like she’s trying her best to be careful with how many breaths she can exhale before she’s got none left to stand sanely before him. “There’s more to the story,” she says after a minute, her voice croaking in the back of her throat, a question in her eyes as if she’s wondering if he’ll hear it, maybe if not today, later.

“We have time.”

And then he’s opening the door for her because even through everything—even though she may or may not be testing his own moral compass, even though he’s not quite sure if he forgives her, not really—, Cassian admits he’s got a soft spot for Jyn Erso, he really does.

And he’s not quite sure if that will change, not anytime soon. 

**Author's Note:**

> visit me here [@ma-chelle](http://ma-chelle.tumblr.com/)


End file.
